


Pollen Warning

by TheHuggamugCafe



Series: Weather Forecast [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Sexual innuendos, Tags will be added as the series progresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:11:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuggamugCafe/pseuds/TheHuggamugCafe
Summary: No matter what the state of today, tomorrow, or the next day…Whether it is a sunny day, rainy, snowing, or during a heatwave…You are loved.He loves you.No matter the weather outside, or the temperature inside…He will show you love.





	Pollen Warning

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I am not affiliated with the movie industry in any way, shape, or form.
> 
> I make no money off of this fic, or any others I have written or will write.
> 
> I am simply a poor fan who likes the Saw franchise a bit too much.
> 
> Trigger warning: blood and gore.

It was a normal Friday evening for you and Akira. Evenings were a sacred time, treasured between the two of you, especially with how rare it was that you both got to enjoy each other’s company. Even if they were spent in the dimly lit darkness of the small, but still homey-looking living room of the apartment room you both shared, evenings were cherished by you and him as well.

An evening such as that particular time where there was no homework, no assignments, no upcoming tests to study for…

An evening where there were no sudden calls from your manager asking you to come in because someone called in sick…

An evening when you didn’t have to cover for a co-worker because, apparently, someone simply didn’t even try to make the effort to show up for his or her evening shift…

Such a time was a rarity, a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity you didn’t plan on squandering.

Evenings where you and Akira could spend curled up on the couch were certainly a treat, especially just before the weekend. A temporary solace from the educational prison that only wanted to pile work and high, almost impossible expectations upon you and your friends. A sought-after freedom, however short-lived, of never having to step foot into your workplace again—at least not until your next shift, anyway.

If it were up to you, and you didn’t have to suffer the consequences of looking for another, more enjoyable place to work at, you wouldn’t hesitate in giving your manager your two-week notice.

You certainly weren’t complaining about having a Friday evening off for the first time, the first time in what felt like years.

It was the life raft you swam for amidst the ocean of insanity that was your every-day, rather mundane lifestyle.

The fact that you got to enjoy your night off with Akira was just the icing on the cake.

Similar to the slice of cake you were relishing in, the fork you held clinking over the plate that had held a generous slice of cake, prying off a piece and popping it past your lips, quietly delighting in the subtle difference between the soft texture of the cake, the smooth frosting, and the pieces of confectionery that topped the cake.

The glow from the television screen cast its flickering light five feet from the thirty-inch-wide screen, bathing its dim illumination on random knick-knacks, and cast its flickering glow upon where you and Akira lay on the couch.

The scene of the movie you two decided on watching, a horror series called Saw, opened in what appeared to be an underground room, a light bulb flickering above the head of a woman in a chair. “When I woke up, all I could taste was blood and metal.” The character’s voice filtered through the speakers of the television as she reminisced about her experience with an infamous serial killer to a pair of police detectives, known to the authorities, the press, and the public by the pseudonym of “Jigsaw.”

The woman was bound to a chair, struggling to free herself, to loosen her ensnared wrists from the chair’s armrests, but to no avail. An odd contraption was secured to her face, particularly around the woman’s jaw, taking the form of an obscure-looking bear trap device. She struggled for a few more moments before, finally, turning her head to an old TV that was set up adjacent to where she was sitting as it suddenly turned on.

The television screen flickered with colour, showing a macabre doll with a pale white face, messy black hair, black eyes with red irises, a protruding brow and cheeks with red spirals painted on them. The doll wore a black tuxedo, a white shirt, and a red bow tie, slowly turning its face toward the screen, as though it was looking at the bound woman through the TV’s glass screen.

“Hello, Amanda,” the puppet’s mouth moved as its grinning red lips mimicked speech, delivering a pre-recorded message. “You don’t know me, but I know you. I want to play a game. Here’s what happens if you lose.” The television screen, or rather the camera, flickered with snow for a few moments before its lenses toward a mannequin head that sat upright on a workshop table, fixed with a similar device around its face as the woman was hooked into.

“The device you’re wearing is hooked into your upper and lower jaws. When the timer at the back goes off, your mouth will be permanently ripped open. Think of it like a reverse bear trap. Here, I’ll show you.”

The puppet inclined its pale face toward the mannequin, obscure bear trap and all, and a ticking noise was heard as the timer counted down to zero as there was a sharp click—only for the mannequin’s head to be violently ripped apart as the bear trap’s jaws opened in reverse, displaying little more than the would-be stump of a person’s neck.

The woman’s eyes showed clear fright, terror at its finest as muffled gasps flowed from her mouth, her wide eyes ogled the screen as the puppet continued to talk.

“There’s only one key to open the device. It’s in the stomach of your dead cell mate. Look around, Amanda. Know that I’m not lying. Better hurry up. Live or die, make your choice.”

The camera zoomed in closer to the puppet’s pale white face, its black and red eyes staring for a few more moments before the TV screen flickered with snow before going blank. Your body shuddered just as the woman started struggling in the chair, freeing herself after she violently tugged on the restraints that kept her bound to the chair. However, the moment she stood up, the pin on the back was pulled out, resulting in the 60 second timer to start its countdown.

Your trembling didn’t go unnoticed by a certain incubus, inclining his onyx eyes toward you, a slight smirk touching his lips as he reached for your hands.

“Scared, love?”

“N-No.” Despite the stutter in your voice, you were sincere. You weren’t scared; fear wasn’t the cause of your shiver.

Akira was still smirking, trailing his fingers across the bridge of your knuckles.

“No? Then… _What_ are you feeling, kitten?”

A second shudder possessed you, your eyes widening as you reached forward, setting the plate of cake down on the coffee table in front of where you and Akira lounged on the couch. You sniffled once as your body stiffened, reaching forward to snatch a tissue from the box on the coffee table. The tissue was raised to your nose, hastily, and held there as Akira reached forward to pick up the remote control, just as a sneeze violently racked your body.

“Achoo!”

The sneeze was muffled by the tissue you grasped in your hands, holding it to your nose, blowing it before you drew it back. You sniffled as a small grimace briefly possessed your face, momentarily disgusted by the globs of mucus that stained the white tissue. You huffed as you folded the tissue, the couch shifting as it was relieved of your weight.

The sound of cutting flesh, organs tearing, and blood splatter halted abruptly, Akira pressing a forefinger down on the pause button of the remote control, pointing his onyx irises on you as you began to walk out of the living room. He didn’t need to ask where you were going, or what you’d be doing when you got there.

There had been a pollen warning advisory on the weather channel before you had selected a movie to watch, and given that it was the beginning of spring, your mild allergies were bound to kick in sooner or later. However, over the course of the last week, despite noticing that the stock of tissues were disappearing at an alarming rate in no time at all, despite his constant offers to go pick up something to help you when you clearly needed it, he was always met with the same stern look.

The same _don’t-treat-me-like-a-child-Akira_ expression you’d always wear, the same expression that always looked so adorable on you. Yes, even when you were glaring indignantly at him, acting very much like the child you claimed not to be, he thought it was a cute visage that suited you.

However, that wasn’t what had Akira on edge as of late; no, what kept him on his toes was him. His thoughts, to be exact, perverse as they often were; incubi and succubi were renowned for being sensual beings with a high sexual appetite, after all. Akira was no different; he was often looking for a new, exciting way to stimulate both himself and yourself. He was always searching, hoping to bring a newfound spice—or if fortune truly favoured him, _newfound spices_ —to the bedroom.

He was well versed in the art of giving and receiving when it came to his relationship with you, as were you. Whether it was physically, spiritually, or emotionally, you and he took—and returned—as much as you both desired.

And what would be going through his mind while you were preoccupied in the bathroom? Thoughts involving you, of course. That was nothing new. Thoughts involving him pinning you to the couch, the bed, up against the wall, having you on your hands and knees on the living room floor or, hell, anywhere he could corner you and screw you senseless on?

Again, that was nothing new, but… What was strange was how his thoughts had come into being as of late. Akira viewed himself as the type of incubus who was neither totally vanilla, or completely into hardcore BDSM; he could switch between the two and mix them up as it suited him, and whichever favoured the mood you happened to be in.

But, even so… He couldn’t help but think that out of all the newfound kinks he had yet to try with you…

Out of all the things that could possibly turn him on… _Sneezing_?

It wasn’t the sneezing that caused his blood to flow straight down to his groin, per se, but it was definitely thanks to how you were while experiencing a sneezing fit, how you tried to keep it at bay. Your physical reactions were what did wonders for his imagination, and certainly in no small part at that.

It was how your body would tense at times, especially when you were curled up against him. How your fingers would clutch on to his hand, his forearm, or his shoulder, your nails digging into his skin even through the sleeve of his shirt. How your body would become tense as your shoulders locked, your muscles tightening as you remained in place, frozen until you were sure the small fit had passed.

It was how you’d bury your face into his chest, his neck, or his shoulder, your warm breath tickling his skin before you pulled away, murmuring a quiet apology as your fingers released their light death grip on his skin. It was in the way you’d glance up at him, your eyes shining as you sniffed, offering another apology as you pulled away from him. Normally, you’d still be smiling even as you reverted back to the reserved—albeit still stubborn—demeanour that he knew and adored more than anything else about you.

It was that sort of imagery that had him wondering how you’d feel during one of your sneezing fits, how your body would feel seizing around him as you were riding him…

“Achoo!”

 _Speak of the shy temptress, and she shall appear,_ Akira mused silently, a smirk touching the corner of his lips as you rounded the corner. He flicked an onyx-eyed stare down the short corridor as you exited the bathroom, a fresh tissue pressed to your nose—only to huff indignantly and pivot sharply on your heel, disappearing back into the bathroom.

Moments later, you re-emerged from the restroom, sniffling as you trudged back to the living room. Your shining eyes locked on Akira as he watched you, smirk still on his lips.

You sniffled one last time, blinking as you popped a question.

“What’s that look for?”

“You were in the bathroom for an awfully long time. Any particular reason why?”

“No. Why?”

Akira didn’t respond. He merely waited in silence, waiting for you to grasp the perverse meaning behind his question. He watched as a rosy flush highlighted your cheeks as the realization of what he was really asking dawned on you, as clear as a new day.

“That’s disgusting, Akira. I’d never do that.”

“Not without me watching, I’d hope?”

You breathed a sigh, deciding that it was better if you didn’t respond to his statement. God forbid if you gave him more ammunition to tease you, to get under your skin, and out of your clothes.

 _Not necessarily in that order,_ you thought, pursing your lips as you sniffled one last time.

“I’m going to make some popcorn,” you said, turning on your heel and walking a few steps, making a sharp right into the kitchen/dining room. You didn’t need to stop, to turn your head over your shoulder to see if Akira was following you.

His soft chuckle and the light, but noticeable tap-taps of his feet hitting the floor gave his approach away.

You breathed a sigh, a sigh that soon turned into a sniffle as you stooped down in front of the cupboards beneath the counter-top as they were opened, digging around for an unopened box of popcorn. However, at the exact moment when the colourful box was gripped by your fingers, a set of hands held your clothed hips in a grip that was firm but gentle. Gentle enough to avoid harming you unnecessarily, but firm enough to feel the masculinity of the fingers, the palms that held you.

A simpering croon of, “Mm” echoed in your ear as a tingling sensation shot up and down your spine. You straightened your posture, the popcorn box slipping from your fingers, quickly forgotten as you flicked a stare over your shoulder. You vaguely took note of just how close you were to the counter-top, and how close Akira had decided to press himself against you. Finally, your mouth popped open, a question at the ready.

“What are you doing, Akira?”

A quiet chuckle was your response, a soft laugh that vibrated through your inner ear.

“What am I doing? Wooing you, of course, love.”

“Akira, I’m not feeling my best right now, okay? So could we just relax for one night—mph.”

In less than five seconds Akira spun you around, pressing you up against the counter-top and stealing a kiss from you. You thought that his antics would play out as they often did when he was feeling a bit riled up. Whether it was during breakfast in the morning, lunchtime on the weekends, or preparing dinner in the evenings, the noiret incubus usually stole more than his fair share of kisses from you and that would be it, but apparently, Akira had other plans in store for you on that particular night. He held you by the hips as he hoisted you up off of the floor, setting you down on the counter-top. His teeth nibbled on your lower lip in a sort of farewell, smirking as he successfully pulled a whimper from you. Akira’s onyx eyes were slowly swallowed up by a shade of vermilion that you recognized all too well, and seeing those lustrous crimson irises pointed straight at you caused you to swallow a gulp.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” Akira crooned, his fingers lazily trailing circles over your clothed hips as he talked, softly humming as he took a kiss, another kiss, and another from you.

“Wh-What’s gotten into you tonight?” you asked, a bit breathless after the quick lip-locks.

“Nothing at all, my dear. However… I do hope you know what I plan on getting into at some point tonight, don’t you? But before that,” Akira paused, his carmine eyes shimmering as he noticed a fresh splash of pink darkening your cheeks.

“…Would you like to see what sort of magic my tongue works?”


End file.
